


Drone bomb me

by Trash



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: Dan struggles whilst on the Reorchestrated tour, and Kyle feels helpless.





	Drone bomb me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parsleylion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsleylion/gifts).



> For Parsleylion's prompt of 'alcoholic Dan on the Reorchestrated UK tour'. Someone asked for a fic with a happy ending. This isn't it.

_I have a glint in my eye  
I think I want to die._

**MANCHESTER**

Kyle finds Dan standing in the middle of the seats, staring up at the stage. When he sees Kyle approaching he forces a smile but it’s too late to hide the terror that had been there previously.

“You okay, love?” Kyle asks, putting a hand on the small of his back. “You look grey.”

Dan steps away from his touch subtly, Kyle forgets sometimes that they don’t do that anymore. “Fine,” he says. “No room for error tonight.”

“Mmm. Weird, playing places like this again.”

“I prefer arenas. Didn’t ever think I’d say that.”

“Me either,” Kyle laughs.

“People are further away,” Dan says, as if that explains it all, and Kyle doesn’t push it.

***

They’ve shared rooms for so long that nobody even suggests a different arrangement. Dan and Kyle will room together, as they always have. And Dan will spend too long in the bathroom getting ready and will come out adjusting the bracelets wrapped around his wrists and Kyle will pretend he doesn’t know exactly what they’re hiding. As he always has.

This time, though, there’s a bloody razor lying on the sink and Kyle feels sick at the sight of it. He knew, how could he not? He’s seen the silvery scars on Dan’s chest and stomach, the freshly healed ones hidden under his watch and bracelets. But this is something else.

He wraps it in tissue paper and throws it in the bin, using another wad to wipe away the blood. He’s just flushing the blood paper away when Dan walks in, adjusting his jumper.

“Where is it?” He asks, calmly.

“It’s in the bin, babe. It was dirty.”

Dan nods. “Right. Don’t do that again.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Me? How about you? This needs to stop, Dan.”

“Whatever,” Dan says, turning away and going back into the bedroom. He grabs his bag and shoves his phone into his pocket, pointedly ignoring Kyle.

“At least talk to me about it.”

“See you later,” Dan says, grabbing the spare key card from the desk and leaving the room. The door closes quietly behind him, and Kyle is alone.

***

Dan is drinking with the To Kill a King boys when Kyle gets to the venue. James raises his beer when he walks into the dressing room.

“Wahay!” He cheers. “Hello, Kyle.”

“Can I borrow Dan?”

“Boo.”

Dan chugs his beer and gets up. “Sound check?”

“Sound check.”

They walk to the stage together and it’s obvious that beer wasn’t Dan’s first. Kyle says as much.

“Sorry, dad.”

“Don’t be a prick. I’m just worried.”

“I’m fine. I’m nervous about tonight, but I’m fine.”

Kyle looks at him.

“Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is, Kyle,” Dan says, walking away.

Kyle watches him, and his face must give him away because Will goes, “Y’okay, babes?”

“What? Yeah, don’t be soft.”

Will laughs. “Says you.”

“Whatever.” He heads across the stage without another word, unsure whether he wants to punch Dan or himself.

***

The show is amazing, but Dan is still moping in the dressing room afterward. He picks at the label of his beer bottle and watches everyone flit around the room.

“There’s fans waiting outside,” he says when Kyle flops onto the couch next to him.

“Yeah, Dick told me. You gonna go see them?”

“Yeah. I just need to...” he gestures to his beer and takes a swig.

“Dutch courage?”

“Something like that. I forgot the words. Icarus was...”

“Jesus, they’re not going to care. They’ve waited,” he checks his phone, “three hours to meet you. Don’t think they give much of a shit.”

Dan nods. “Right.” He tugs his t-shirt away from his chest and drains his beer. “See you at the hotel?”

“It’s a date,” Kyle smiles, blushing when he realises what he said.

***

Dan doesn’t come back to the hotel for hours, but Kyle waits up for him anyway. When he shows up his eyes are red rimmed and watery and Kyle’s heart sinks.

“Dan?”

“M’fine,” Dan murmurs, kicking off his shoes before disappearing into the bathroom and locking the door.

Kyle slides off the bed and raises his hand to knock on the door but hesitates. Raises it again, stops himself, then eventually just says, “Let me in.”

“I’m having a shit.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’m fine, Kyle. Go to bed.”

Kyle rests his head against the door and berates himself for not putting the razor blade in a different bin, like one on the street that Dan is unlikely to go foraging through. “Please don’t...um...promise me you’re not going to...do that thing.”

There’s silence for a full minute before Dan says, so quietly Kyle almost misses it. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Kyle says to himself, and sits down with his back against the door.

***

What wakes Kyle up is his alarm going off somewhere across the room. That and the throbbing pain across his shoulders that has spread up into his neck from sleeping on the fucking floor.

He slept on the floor. Which means Dan hasn’t come out the bathroom all night.

The cold fist of panic that grips Kyle’s heart makes him lose his breath. He jumps to his feet and hammers his fist against the door. “Dan? Dan.”

He listens carefully but there’s nothing. With shaking fingers he digs out a coin from the pocket of his jeans and pushes it into the lock, turning it roughly and almost falling into the bathroom. And there’s Dan, fully dressed and in the empty bath.

Kyle drops to his knees and shakes him roughly, too scared to check for a pulse. There’s no blood, but what if he had pills? What if he’s taken all of his anti-anxiety medication in one go? What if he was dying in the bath whilst Kyle was asleep outside the door?

“Please, please, don’t do this. Come on.” Kyle shakes him, slaps his face lightly and blinks back tears. “Dan, come on babes. Come on.”

“Hnngh,” says Dan. His eyes flutter open behind his glasses which are skew-whiff and in desperate need of a clean. “Kyle. You’re crying.”

Kyle hiccups and smiles. “Yeah, you scared me you fucking bastard. I thought you were dead. You prick. You absolute cock smoking, fanny fart. I thought-“ his voice breaks and he sits back to rub his face.

“Kyle.”

“What’s going on, Dan? I know you’re nervous, I know this tour is intimate and scary, but this is something else.”

“I’m fine,” Dan says as he pushes himself to sit up properly.

“No. You’re not. You’re not fine. You were mortal drunk last night and I didn’t want to say anything because I’d already lectured you about the razor blade but you need to talk to me because...”

Dan waits.

“Because I love you and I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t say that. I’m okay. I need to have a shower, though.”

Kyle doesn’t move.

“You want to watch?”

Kyle stares at him as he climbs out of the bath and starts pulling off his clothes. “Fuck you, Dan,” he says, with feeling, leaving the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

***

**EDINBURGH**

Kyle is exhausted and in a moderate amount of pain so spends most of the journey to Edinburgh with a heat patch on his neck and a scowl on his face. Woody raises an eyebrow. “Get out the wrong side of bed, princess?”

“Piss off, Woody,” he says, too tired to even joke. Dan is in the back room with Will watching a bootleg copy of that film about a woman shagging a fish. It’s like it didn’t happen. Dan has always had a face for everybody else and a face for himself, which Kyle supposes is true of just about anybody. But he doesn’t know how to separate the Dan he found in the bath this morning from the Dan in the back room laughing about fish willies. He also knows he can’t say anything to anyone else about this. So Woody probably just thinks he’s being a moody prick, which is fine. It’s fine.

Dan starts drinking as soon as they get to the venue, and Kyle catches himself about to say something but doesn’t - it’s not like he’s the only one with a beer in his hand, and it’s been a long fucking drive, and any of the other excuses he tells himself.

He goes outside to smoke by the buses before too many people show up. It’s fucking freezing, but he commits because YOLO. He’s shivering by the time Dan comes out, going, “Hello.”

“Hey.”

He holds out a plastic cup with orange liquid full of bubbles.

“What’s that?”

“Vodka and Irn Bru. Want some?” He wiggles the cup a little bit and the pop sloshes over the side.

“No, ta.”

“It’s a peace offering.”

“Fucking hell, Dan, I don’t want a peace offering.”

Dan bristles. “Then what do you want?”

Kyle stubs his cigarette out on the wall and flicks the butt down the drain. “God, I don’t know,” he says. He nods at the plastic cup. “I want you to stop drinking all the bloody time for a start. I want you to talk to me. I want you to just…”

“What? Get over it? Do you think I haven’t tried? Shit, Kyle, I try every day. But sometimes it’s too much. The pressure, the…” he gestures randomly, “everything. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Well, this isn’t going to help,” Kyle says, taking the cup from Dan’s hand and pouring it out at their feet. The Irn Bru splashes their shoes, and he crushes the cup before handing it back to Dan who stares at the puddle.

“No,” he says, “I suppose not.”

“Have you thought about seeing a doctor? Talking to someone?”

Dan laughs, humourlessly. “I went to see a doctor. They gave me medication and sent me on my way. They see a rich boy with no real problems - I mean, what have I actually got to say? Poor me, I have stage fright because I have a successful band? What the fuck?”

“Depression doesn’t discriminate, Dan.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, more to the puddle than to Kyle, “suppose you’re right.”

***

**BRISTOL**

By the time they get to Bristol almost everybody is giving Kyle a wide berth because he is a moody cunt. Ralph takes him to one side when they get to the pub for lunch, puts a hand on his arm. 

“Everything okay, mate?”

Kyle forces a smile. “Hangry,” he says. “Only so much a sandwich from M and S can keep you going.”

Ralph laughs. “I’m running on a Greggs sausage roll and a packet of Quavers so, I get it.” He claps Kyle on the back and goes to the bar to order. Dan is already there, handing over his money in exchange for a pint. Ralph says something to him and Dan glances over his shoulder at Kyle, nods to Ralph. Kyle wants to walk out and go to McDonalds on his own but he knows that’ll only enhance his bad reputation. Instead he sits down with the horn chaps (and chapette) and peruses the menu. 

The food is tasteless, and he complains out loud about it. Will pulls a face. “I had the same as you, babes, and it was fine.”

“Oh,” Kyle says. “Must be getting a cold or something.” Dan pointedly doesn’t look at him.

There’s a headache threatening to split his head in two by the time they get to sound check. He stands and watches the string section warm up, the drag of their bows across their instruments lulls him into a trance which is only broken by Dick putting a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Can I have a word?” He asks in a way that implies this isn’t an invitation, it’s a demand. 

Kyle follows him backstage and into the dressing room where Will, Woody, Dan, and Charlie are sitting around. They all look up when Kyle walks on and Dick says, “sit down.”

Kyle laughs nervously. “Is this an intervention?”

“We’re just worried about you, babes,” Will says. He looks to the others who, all save Dan, nod sagely. 

“You’ve not been yourself,” Charlie points out. 

“Um.”

“We just want you to know we’re all here for you. Whatever you’re going through,” he says. 

“You’ve been a bloody nightmare to be around,” Woody interjects bluntly. “We’re not even halfway through the tour, mate. We love you and that, but what’s crawled up your arse and died?”

Kyle looks around the room at the concerned faces, at Dan staring at his hands clasped in his lap. They’re expecting something big, some bombshell they can help make better. But he can’t tell them the truth. 

He stares at the ceiling and says, “I prefer arena tours. People are further away. There’s no room for error and it’s...the pressure is a lot.”

Will smiles. “You’ve smashed it every night so far. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Kyle thinks of Dan in the bath, the moment he saw him and thought he was dead. “Dunno,” he says.

***

**SHEFFIELD**

Dan smiles as they approach City Hall. “There’s fountains,” he says, pointing. 

“Well done, Danny boy, using your words,” Ralph says and Dan laughs. 

And that’s nice, isn’t it? And Kyle shouldn’t be annoyed that Dan seems to have miraculously gotten out of his funk, should he? In the mean time people are still looking at him and smiling kindly. Like he’s one of those cats at the adoption centre. The one with a bad temper and angry face. Which he supposes isn’t a bad description of himself at the moment. 

He fucks up plenty during sound check, mostly because he keeps looking over at Dan who is busy filming the choir, filming himself spinning on the spot. Kyle wants to protect him, keep him safe. It’s not the first time he’s felt like this, like he just wants to bundle Dan in his arms. But they’ve been there done that, so instead he just watches. 

***

Dan stays at the venue to meet fans again, and Kyle waits up anxiously. When the door opens he jumps to his feet but Dan hasn’t been crying this time, and just looks at him strangely. 

“What?” 

“What?” Kyle asks. 

“Why are you...standing in the middle of the room?”

“I was waiting for you,” Kyle says, “I was worried.”

Dan’s face softens and he nods, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the end of his bed. “I’m sorry about the lads,” he says after a moment of staring at the TV, which is playing an ancient episode of Catchphrase. 

“S’ok,” Kyle says, even though it isn’t. “Sorry I’ve been a moody arsehole. It’s just...hard.”

“This is my shit, Kyle.”

“It’s not though, is it? No man is, you know, an island.”

Dan laughs quietly. “Arty farty,” he says. 

“What? Oh.” 

“I swear, some of the people who go on this show are just stupid.”

“Says Dan Smith, Catchphrase expert.”

Dan smiles at him before going back to watching the TV. After a while he tells the TV, “I haven’t had a drink today.”

“That’s great,” Kyle tells him. “How do you feel?”

“Empty,” Dan says, honestly. 

Kyle wishes he knew what to say to that. 

***

He doesn’t know what wakes him up at first, until he hears Dan whispering to him in the dark. “Mmm?”

“Can I come in?” 

“Mmm.”

The covers are pulled back and Kyle shuffles back a little to let Dan in. It’s been a while. They used to fit together so well, but now they’re both jagged at the edges. 

“Spoon me,” Dan demands, grabbing Kyle’s arm and draping it over his waist. 

Kyle shuffles up closer behind him and presses his nose into his hair, breathing deep. 

“Love you,” Dan whispers. 

“Love you too.”

***

**LONDON**

There’s nothing like playing in London. Apart from anything else it means they get to sleep in their own beds, but the shows here are always something else. 

Kyle meets up with his friends the night before the gig and he almost misses the phone call in the din of the pub. It’s Dan, and when he answers it he has to shout over the music. 

“Dan?” He says. There’s silence down the line, so he says, “Hello?”

“Kyle.”

“Can you hear me, mate? I’m in the pub.”

“Oh. Sorry. Of course you’re...it’s nothing important. I’m sorry,” Dan rambles, “I’m sorry.”

“Hold on, let me go outside,” Kyle says, already fighting his way through the crowds to the door. “Dan, you still there?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Have a good night. I’m sorry,” Dan says, before hanging up.

Kyle stares at the black mirror of his phone. He could just go back inside, but he can’t can he? Instead he calls Dan back, getting irritated when he doesn’t answer. He rings and rings and rings before opting for using the Find my Friends app. Okay, so he’s home. He glances back at the pub. There’s an unfinished beer in there with his name on, there’s music and laughter and friends. But there’s no Dan. So instead of going back inside he flags down a taxi.

***

Kyle knocks on Dan’s door out of nothing but politeness. He doesn’t even wait a full minute before digging out his spare key and letting himself in. He thinks about the reason Dan moved out of his house share and into the basement flat and his mouth goes dry. The hall is dark and quiet, so he flicks on the light. “Dan?” He stands still, listening for any noise at all. 

He finds him in the bathroom, wedged between the toilet and the sink and wearing only a pair of old tracksuit pants. There’s blood on his chest, his fingers, but at least he is definitely breathing. Kyle kneels in front of him and takes his hand, slippery with blood. “We need to stop meeting like this,” he says, as lightly as he can.

“I’m sorry,” Dan murmurs. “I shouldn’t have rang you. You didn’t need to come.” 

“Of course I needed to come, idiot,” Kyle says. “Need to get you cleaned up.” He gets up and grabs a washcloth from the side of the bath, soaking it in warm water and wringing it out. He gently glides it over Dan’s chest, wincing every time Dan flinches. “Sorry,” he says. “Does it hurt?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dan says.

“Does to me.” Kyle rinses the blood from the cloth, the water running pink. He dabs at the cuts, trying not to look directly at them. “I thought you were feeling better.”

“Me too.”

Kyle dumps the cloth in the sink and sits down opposite Dan, reaching out to run a hand through his messy hair. “What happened?”

“I came home,” Dan says, simply. “I came home and it was just...it was really quiet. Sorry. That probably sounds really stupid.”

It doesn’t. They’d have been sharing the flat if things had just worked out differently. But Dan doesn’t want to be out, and Kyle doesn’t want to live a lie. So now Dan comes back here alone, and does things like this. Kyle shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Will you stay? Just for the night? I don’t...want anything. Just...please don’t leave?”

“I won’t,” Kyle says, squeezing Dan’s hands, “not ever.”

**Fin.**


End file.
